Älä juo
by LibraMoon
Summary: The nightstand is turned over, her favorite shirt is ruined, and who the heck is sleeping next to her? What did she just do? Rated M. FinlandxFemAmerica.
1. Chapter 1

**Requested story with FinlandxFemAmerica. Rated M for swearing and implied sex.**

**I own nothing. Rated M.**

OoOoOo

It happened the night she got rip-roaring drunk, and ended up waking up in a room not her own. So very not her own, and Oh lord the world was spinning. America cracked open a bleary eye open and felt it was a mistake.

A terrible, horrible mistake.

She bit back a groan and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes while her stomach stopped trying to turn upside down on her.

She nearly slaps her face with a heavy hand because she's checking for Texas. It's not on her face. Where was Texas?

America rolls over and stares at the knocked over nightstand on which Texas is precariously balanced.

Oh no.

Why was the nightstand knocked over?

The answer to that question didn't seem as important as the realization that she was naked.

Why the fuck was she naked?

Someone made a sound next to her, and America looked at him.

Better question.

Who the fuck was _that_?

She sat up and winced. Ow. Geez.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed slowly.

Fuck she was sore.

Oh fuck.

Ow.

Geez what the hell had she been doing down there? Or how many times?

America winced as she walked to the bathroom. A small amount of mixed essence started to drip out. Ugh. Gross. Just gross. Well, she'd obviously had some fun. She squinted at the overly bright light in the bathroom.

Fuck. Who invented fucking florescent lights?

Her head was pounding, and she was throbbing down between her legs. Great fucking way to wake up. Just fan-fucking-tastic.

She and that unknown asshole on the bed must have really gone to town last night. America didn't really blame her mystery partner. She was simply in pain and irritated that this happened at all.

She took care of her needs and tried to clean up a bit.

She sighed softly. This meant she'd have to do the walk of shame. Damn. This was not shaping up to be a good day.

She stared, her mind sluggishly turning, trying to put a face with the lingering soreness.

The blonde hair, crap... so many nations had blonde hair. It really didn't narrow it down for her. At. All.

Okay, think. _Think. _

Alright. She had a few drinks with England...

Oh please don't let it be England. She could not handle that bullshit this early and mostly hung-over. She really need to lay off the beer. It would be safer to stick to soda.

No, wait, England had gone over to the pool table to challenge an equally boozed-up France. Then she'd been talking with Canada...

Oh Fuck! No her brother. Oh Dear God _NO_. What if what she'd just cleaned up was his...

She felt the urge to be sick.

America swallowed the bile, rubbing her pounding head. No... oh _thank God._ Canada had left with her weird bear thing, because no pets were allowed in the bar.

Okay. Okay. It was okay to breathe.

What had happened after Canada left? She remembered slapping France's hands away at one point, and the Netherlands had come around trying to talk business with him.

She looked at the hair color again. No... it was too dark to be the Netherlands. Who had hair that color?

Crap how many blonde nations were there?

Her brain refused to work for her and she stared at the wall for a few minutes.

Fuck this, she needed water.

Alright, America, think about this.

He's too big to be Latvia. Too small to be Sweden, who was also gay. She was pretty sure. It was a male so that ruled out Lichtenstein. They were too short to be Denmark... but Norway was a possibility,

Please for the love of fries tell her she didn't just bang England's freaky new friend. The one they could actually see.

Oh fuck... it could be Romania for that matter.

Damn. Damn. Damn. She thought to herself as she grabbed a cheap plastic cup form the bathroom and filled it with water, chugging it down. She refilled it swiftly and drank that too.

She need Tylenol, or Motrin, or aspirin... or...something. What else was a pain killer again? Advil? Advil was one right?

Who was she kidding? She didn't care.

She just wanted this to blow over. Okay, so she'd had some wild sex, judging by the state of the room. Her clothes were... ripped in a few places.

What the hell? She liked that shirt.

Damn it.

Now she was going to have to go out of her way to get a new damn shirt because this asshole in the bed that she didn't _recall_ made her have to go get a new one. America knew there was a large possibility that she was responsible for the state of her shirt, but she was studiously ignoring that in favor of mentally bitching at someone else.

Focus girl. Focus.

It was hard to do that though when every time she moved, there was a twinge in her nether regions. It couldn't have been Poland, she'd shoot him if it was. No, the hair wasn't long enough. Who had short blonde hair?

Her eyes wandered over the man's sleeping form.

The absence of long hair meant he wasn't Switzerland either. Oh thank goodness. That would have made banking transactions a fucking nightmare. Knowing he'd pounded her like a damn whack-a-mole while she asked after her investments would have been unbearable.

Well, that was one bullet dodged, she supposed.

America combed her finger through her hair, trying to smoothed the tangled mess. Poor Nantucket looked like it was a birds nest.

As she did so, she noticed in the mirror her neck was covered with hickies.

Oh God Damn it. Really? Fucking _really_?

She whined softly, trying not to be torn between being pissed and stressed. Did he have to make it look like she was a damn leopard? America even had love bites on her chest.

Had he been trying to freaking _eat_ her?

She shook her head, regretting it instantly.

She needed a fuck ton of coffee, and foundation or concealer. Geez look at this shit. Everywhere!

America narrowed her gaze at the other nation on the bed. He had to do this? Seriously? She smelled like a damn brothel of cheap booze and stale sweat combined with sex. This was a little disgusting. She needed to make her little walk of shame out the door, as soon as she found all her clothes, and get back to her room.

After that, then she could swallow an entire pot of coffee, and take a couple of pain meds then pretend that this _never_ fucking happened.

She quietly crept out of the bathroom and went on the prowl for her shoes first. If he woke up, as long as she had the shoes she'd run out of here buck naked if it was less embarrassing.

However...running around naked...would be less... embarrassing.

You know what? Fuck it. She was America. It would be heroic if she streaked at this point.

Somehow.

As she looked under the nearby chair, which, why were their scratches in the desk next to it? It almost looked like someone had scraped at it with their fingernails-

Oh no. She thought with an internal groan.

She winced and scrunched up her face. America did a lot of things last night then. Because if she wasn't mistaken there was an item on the ground that would vibrate if she touched it.

Where the _hell_ had that come from?

If the other nation ever spoke of this, she'd kill him. That was the only solution. She was going to have to kill him, quietly.

Her blue eyes stared at the still sleeping man. Her hand twitched toward him. Damn... she couldn't do it. He hadn't said anything... yet.

_IF_ he did... oh... she'd destroy him.

How the fuck was she going to explain this to her boss? 'Sorry I'm was late to the meeting Sir,' she could imagine herself saying, 'I was too busy being fucked six-ways from Sunday'.

Oh yeah, that'd go over like a lead balloon.

Then she saw it, and it made her blood run cold.

A blue shirt.

A blue fucking button down shirt.

Blonde hair.

Blue _fucking_ shirt!

Oh no. Oh no. Oh. FUCK!

America froze, her eyes wide as she stared at the bed in horror.

No, she wouldn't have.

No.

She.

_He walked up to her with a smile. He asked if she was doing well. America laughed and touched his hand flirtatiously, calling him sweet to ask after her. She'd just been a little tipsy, but then he'd ordered a drink. She felt compelled to order one herself. _

_Two more drinks and she was fiddling with the silver cross he had on. She squirmed in her seat, feeling the heat on her cheeks. Her inhibitions lowered and he had the same rosy completion on his face. _

Fuck.

She didn't...

_America leaned in and whispered a naughty suggestion in his ear, all but taunting him to act on it._

_The other nation laughed, and grabbed her to him. He pressed her flush against his body. She could feel a hardness already there. America wasted no time in caressing it was a hand she snuck between their bodies._

_"Let's find something to do about that," she said with a temptress smile._

_He'd pressed her hand more firmly against him, heedless of the other people in the bar._

_"Joo," he replied in a seductive whisper._

Oh...

Hell.

America stared in horror as the man turned over, his face peaceful in rest.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, her face was aflame. America felt her hands shake.

"Oh shit," she whispered to the empty air.

Shit. Shit. _Shit._

_"_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," she repeated like a mantra.

What was she going to say to Sweden? How could she even talk to Sweden ever again? The guy was stuck hard on Finland. It wasn't like she could walk up to him with a huge smile and say _'Hey Sweden buddy. How've have you been? What's new? Me? I let your 'wife' fuck me like a two dollar whore._'

Somehow, amazingly, she doubted that would fly.

Fuck.

Just _fuck._

God this was so lame. She attempted to quietly smack her forehead with the palm of her head over and over.

Damn it!

America looked around for her undergarments, she needed to get dressed. The walls were starting to close in. How the hell could she sleep with the nation who dressed up as Santa during the holidays?

Her mind happily, in a masochistic sense, provided the scenes from the night before. America bit her tongue to keep from whimpering.

Wow. They had done a lot in a short amount of time. Damn.

That certainly explained the soreness. Crap.

Alright, it was time for a patented America tactical evaluation. This situation was fucked up beyond recognition. Therefore it was time to enact an exit strategy. Thus was born America's most amazing plan ever constructed by her genius.

Plan. _'Oh shit'_.

She found her articles of clothing. Her bra had somehow managed to crawl under the bed, and she kept glancing up at Finland to make sure he didn't fucking wake up while she was trying to hightail it the fuck out of here.

Okay stay calm. Stay calm.

There was a chance, small chance-most likely the desperation talking-, that Finland might not even remember any of this. He may not recall her moaning and rubbing against him like a cat in heat. Or the multiple forms of sex...

Or...

Please God, if you ever loved America, don't let him remember. She pleaded, much like she had on her knees last night, for leniency.

America hurriedly shoved herself into her pants. She put her bra on, snapping it into place, and shoved her arms in her torn shirt. She would have to hold it closed on the way back to her room, but she could deal with that.

Not this shit.

Fuck! Why did it have to be Finland? Now she was a home wrecker and shit. Not that Finland was entirely blameless. He was such a gentle nation normally. He was certainly not gentle last night. Not that she'd wanted him to be.

America winced again. She felt a twinge in her nethers.

Shut up you. This is all your fault.

America slipped her socks and shoes on. She carefully avoided the fallen nightstand and quietly slipped out of the room.

She would have bolted down the hall, but she was too sore to even think about it.

OoOoOo

She's clean, all traces of the things she'd done the night before are gone. She's practically hooked an IV of coffee to her system, and she'd downed a couple Tylenol. Her hair is brushed and she's dressed in business attire because the meeting is in twenty minutes. She's had the time to stop at the local drug store and get some make-up to cover her 'spots'.

Seriously, like a fucking Dalmatian or Leopard. She'd covered in the marks he gave her. If anyone asks, she's going to lie and say someone tried to strangle her. Hopefully that was a good enough excuse for the bruises.

Only, they do not look like they came from fingers and...

Fuck! Stop thinking about it.

America swept into the meeting, looking rather presentable and well.

Internally there is still quite a bit of soreness that has eased to a constant ache. Sitting down is going to be a real bitch. She is not looking forward to it. America gingerly sits in her seat. If she tries, and she is utterly fucking silent, most countries might ignore her for the duration of the meeting. It is unlikely she'll be the only one unhappy with loud shouting this morning.

She thought about crossing her legs, but after a twinge, she decides against it.

It was just a stupid drunk mistake. It will all blow over.

The other nations start trickling in. America keeps her mouth shut, and prays for it to end quickly so she can go back to her room and lie down. She reaches for the pitcher of water in front of her. She pours herself a glass.

She shifts her gaze to Canada who she waves at, and takes a sip of water.

Sweden walks in, and America feels her heart go very still. She was not going to make any sudden movements or draw attention to herself. Breathe.

Fucking breathe America!

She fights the blush down mercilessly. She will not give away her position. She isn't sure if Sweden sees by movement or heat signature. Kinda like the Predator, only without the mandibles.

Subtlety, she spares a glance toward Sweden, who takes no notice of her.

Thank the lord.

She just had to get through the meeting.

England starts a fight with France even before Germany arrives. She takes that moment to slouch into her chair a bit. She winces at the action.

Ow.

Mostly the ache is just annoying, but it makes itself known when she moves.

As if her discomfort summons him out of thin air, Finland walks in.

It must have been her imagination, but she thought for a moment that it would more aptly be called 'swaggering'. She bites back a whimper of distress.

Calm down girl. Just calm down. He doesn't remember.

Even if he does, she isn't going to talk to him about it.

His eyes meet hers and America looks away, but not before she catches his smile. It is the same gentle smile he always has. Not the one he wore when they had their night together.

She was so fucked.

Well, she'd certainly _been_ fucked, hadn't she?

Did she just make a joke at her own expense? Fuck this was getting messed up.

America leaned her head against her hand, elbow on the table. She couldn't look at him the rest of the meeting, and for her, she's rather quiet. America doesn't interrupt a single nation, and Canada is eyeing her worriedly.

She's fine.

She's royally screwed, but otherwise fine.

When it ends, she goes to leave, wincing slightly as she moves to stand. Her gaze lands on Finland, and she notices that he's looking at her.

He smiles. Looking as friendly as he normally does. No hint that they'd knocked boots just hours before. Finland is a mild-mannered nation and it shows right now. He hasn't tried to speak to her at all, but as he waves at her...

She bolts.

Heroically, of course.

OoOoOo

She swore to herself that it would never happen a second time.

And yet...

Two months later, and she wakes up knowing deep in her bones that she's made the same mistake again.

Her blue eyes open, and Finland is asleep with his arm around her.

GOD DAMNIT!

She successfully keeps herself from twitching. What the fuck did she do? Again.

America tries to slowly move his arm off of her so she can regain her senses. If she doesn't have her head explode all over him in a trillion pieces.

What the hell happened this time?

She had made sure not to get drunk around Finland. Had made fucking sure!

She winces as she sits up. Sore once more.

Oh for crying out loud. Was the guy hung like a damn horse?

Her memory told her that yes, yes he was.

Fuck.

America covered her face with her hands. Okay, she just needed to find Texas, her clothes, and she was getting out of here.

It was an exceedingly slow process.

How the hell did her underwear end up on the ceiling fan? God, this is about as bad as the stories she's heard about sleeping with Denmark.

Crazy fucking gorgeous Dane.

America sighs to herself. She isn't the one-night stand type. Honest she's not.

Though this nation was certainly making a liar out of her.

She has a soft spot for Finland, she likes him sure. He was the only one to pay her back during the Great Depression. She respects Finland and considers him exceedingly honest. She's never considered that he was capable of, but now she knows.

The throbbing between her legs will be a reminder for a day or two.

She's finishing getting dressed when she hears the covers rustle and she looks over at him with fear coursing through her veins.

His eyes are open.

His eyes are fucking open.

And he is staring. Right. At. HER.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh fucking shit.

America feels her lips twitch into a smile out of reflex.

Finland stares at her for a moment, before he offers her a smile of his own.

"_Hyvää huomenta_," he says kindly.

She swallows and tries to figure out what the hell he just said. He looks sort of happy, so it likely isn't an insult.

What the hell should she say.

"Hi," she says forcefully cheerful.

Yeah, that was scintillating.

Oh God this was awkward. Finland didn't appear bothered in the least. He lazily stretched and the sheet slipped further down as he sat up.

America quickly looked away.

"It is nothing you haven't seen," Finland said with a laugh. He was teasing her, and yes, she knew he was right.

However, she was so fucking embarrassed.

Wasn't it protocol not to talk to the one-night stand afterward? She didn't know, but it sounded like a good rule right about now.

She gave a nervous laugh, and nodded, still not looking quite at him.

"Would you like some _kahvi_?" He said still in a pleasant tone of voice.

Was he coming on to her? Not that he hadn't come-

No. No. Stop that. No jokes.

She blinked.

"America?"

"Yes?" She bleated out, clearly startled.

"Coffee? Do you want coffee?"

No. No. NO.

She wanted the fuck away from this situation.

Like now.

Go all coyote ugly on this shit. If she could, but he was already awake and FUCK!

Fuck.

Damn it. She mentally hung her head.

"Sure," she said in spite of herself.

Fucking hooray for forced acquiescence!

OoOoOo

Translations.

Joo: Informal 'yes'

Hyvää huoment_: _Good morning.

Kavhi: Coffee


	2. Chapter 2

**Please leave a review! Thanks for reading, and to my lovely reviewers. Hope you enjoy.**

**Rated M. I own nothing.**

OoOoOo

It took an act of freaking will power for her to wait for him to get dressed and not sneak out the door while he was distracted. However, there was never exactly enough time for her slip out because now and then his eyes would glance over at her and America would freeze.

Like a damn deer in the headlights because she felt like this was a car wreck _waiting_ to happen. The feeling only grows on her as he breaks eye contact with her and she struggles not to twiddle her thumbs.

She's still sore and she's not going to ask him for Tylenol because it is so damn embarrassing. America's pride won't let her say _'Hey buddy, you really went to town down there. Got any pain meds_?'

To her horror she's blushing and twitching and could they fucking LEAVE already?

She stares at the wall, feeling her heart beating rapidly.

What is she going to do? What the heck is she going to do? IF she made a full frontal assault to get out the door, he wouldn't be able to stop her.

However, America remembers he is a country famous for his snipers.

God Damn it.

And, she's not going to run away while he's awake. That would be totally un-heroic. She'll just have to sit through this unbearably awkward hour or two. Surely Finland just wants to have a quick cup of coffee and say 'Thank you Ma'am'.

Because they have certainly 'wham'-ed and 'bam'-ed.

Several times over.

Several...long...and...hard...and... actually really kinda great-

What the hell was that?

No.

No, _No_, and had she mentioned 'No"?

She was not even going to entertain anything but the steadily creeping horror of understanding that she'd slept with Finland again.

America has to resist the urge to cover her face in her hands. Oh God. She'd banged Finland _again._

A twinge in her nethers reminded her firmly of this fact.

What did she do?

Why did she do this?

What was _wrong_ with her? It was Finland. Sweden would eviscerate her if he ever found out and she was going to go out for coffee with the guy? Just stroll on the street like she'd fucking Mary Poppins because she must secretly be a closet masochist.

This was a nightmare.

Of all the countries, though there were more awkward ones-she acknowledged that-, it was Finland.

It was fucking _Finland_ that she'd let screw her until they both couldn't move. And, if she recalled correctly, there had been an edible substance mixed in there somewhere. She cringed as she remembered, though the memory was a bit fuzzy, that Finland had licked it off of her.

Then she'd reciprocated and-

Her mind supplied several various images of just what she'd done again last night.

Holy Damn.

Finland really did have some stamina. And-

Why was she thinking about this?

What the fuck?

Oh shit. She had to get out of here. Fucking take a bus or a midnight train to Georgia,

Wait... wasn't that a Gladys Knight song.

She was fucking losing it here!

America whimpers to herself nearly soundless. She didn't want to draw the male nation's attention. They were standing at least two meters apart and it was simply not enough space at the moment.

Finland finally is ready to go and they don't say a word, but she gives a few nervous smiles that have her groaning on the inside.

This was so lame and all kinds of awkward.

She knows this was going to bite her in the ass. She just _knew _it. Oh please, pretty please, let someone suddenly have an important country need.

Just this once!

Nothing happens, as Finland opened the door for her.

America tries to hide her blush. Her eyes avoiding his. She didn't think he was staring at her thought. That was good right?

Fuck, this sucked. So hard-core.

This was going to be horrible.

And, her expectations are met when they stroll out the door together and she comes face to face with Iceland.

_Fuck her life_.

America smiles as widely as she could, knowing it comes off as not quite right.

Fucking _hell._

The quiet and reserved nation looks between them curiously, and America has the sneaking suspicion she just _might_ have a few more love bite souvenirs.

She should have looked in the mirror before she left.

It horrifies her that she belatedly realizes that she didn't even run her fingers through her hair.

Which means, it is a likely a mess, a sex-induced mess of knots. Also, her clothes are wrinkled, and she is missing another button.

Why the hell couldn't her shirts hold up to some freaking hard tugging? This was ridiculous.

Iceland knows, she thinks, what they have done together.

Fuck!

She has that huge fucking suspicion because Iceland's eyes widen comically and he's staring at Finland as if he can't believe what he's seeing.

Join the fucking club.

Let the floor open up and swallow her whole. This is too fucking much. America walks right past him, nodding briefly with her head held high.

She will not give up the pretense that this isn't a walk of shame. God Bless her. She starts trying to comb her hair with her fingers.

It's fine.

Totally fine.

She'll just have to kill them both...

No big deal.

It's cool. So cool. Like _Ice_ cold.

Ice cold. Fucking Ice! Like... Iceland.

God DAMN IT!

America jams her finger on the button for the elevator as she closes her eyes and tries to wallow briefly in self-pity. This is a very auspicious start to a day. She can hear Finland come up behind her, but he's not close at all.

Likely doesn't want to be seen with the country that looks like he's just done the horizontal tango with.

Ugh. The memories come back.

She'd been drilled more than if she'd gone to a dentist's office.

The elevator dings and the doors open. America steps inside, staring straight forward. She puts her hands in her jacket pockets so he won't see that they are curled into fists. She is just itching for a fight, because the anger is so much easier to deal with than the embarrassment.

Oh... she just wants to go home and forget about all of this.

She wants to find the magical land of denial and build a fucking two-story house there. She'll be comfortable. She'll put in a freaking patio and a garden if she has the time.

"So," she says striving for some semblance of normalcy between them just so she can get this over with. "Where are we going?"

Who took the one-night stand out to coffee? Who? America dearly wanted to know. Finland was too nice and now it was awkward for her.

He looks at her briefly.

"Just around the corner," he says in the same polite tone.

"Ah," America replies nodding, "okay."

They get off the elevator and she's trying to look at _anything_ but him. However, she walks beside him on the busy street with her head held high. She zips up her jacket so the hickies aren't so obvious.

Walking stings like a bitch and America internally is making faces with each step. She will not show weakness. She refuses. It is only a block or two. Just a block or two, and she'll discreetly try to sit down gently.

Inside she is antsy and nervous. Outwardly she looks mildly serene. She just has to make it through coffee. It was just one little cup of coffee and then she could go shower. America would go shower, take some meds, and not walk the rest of the day.

Ow.

Damn Finland.

Was there some Finnish Kama sūtra she wasn't aware of? Because he seemed to know a lot of various things and ways to do things. America clamped her thighs together briefly as they stopped at a cross walk. She winced, as she felt herself start to grow a little slick at the recollection of some of the things they had-

Oh no. You shut up this instant. She scolded her libido. It was _not_ fucking happening again. She'd give up hotdogs, baseball, and coffee for a year if she did it again.

So it was not happening come hell or high water. She was not going to end up in Finland's bed again.

She realizes she's glaring at him, when he gives a quick look away. His features held a slight smile.

What the hell was funny about this? Was the bastard amused by this? Didn't he think it was just a tad strange that he'd just fornicated with her all over his hotel room.

_All over_. In both senses.

Fuck! Stop that!

America looked up and it was their turn to cross. They made it across the street and she could see the coffee shop from here. She breathed a sigh of relief. Good. This ordeal would be over soon enough. She briefly snuck a glance at Finland who was contentedly walking, as if this was not something to be concerned about.

She would almost swear that his walk could only be described as a little arrogant. Was... was he strutting?

What the fuck?

She shook her head. No her mind was playing tricks on her. It wouldn't be the first time. After all it had let her be taken by Finland on two occasions now.

Ugh. Make it stop. She just wanted to get the coffee and leave.

Finland is ordering his coffee.

America was trying to think of an exit strategy. Peace keeping, and all that garbage because this could very well turn the relationship between America and Sweden more than a bit hostile.

Oh fuck. She'd forgotten about Sweden.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Shit. Shit!

She places an order for her coffee next. Black. She'll take the bitter this morning. Just to get her mind off this cluster fuck she's gotten herself into.

And the fucking she's-

GAH! She bit her lip to keep from screaming at herself.

Okay. Okay. She just needed to make polite small talk, and then they'd part ways and that would be it. It would all blow over.

It had to blow over. It just _had_ to because she can't tell her president about any of this. It would be a fate pretty close to death. America has been a good nation. She isn't the type to do this sort of thing. However, she seems to have found the nerve to do it with the assistance of 'liquid courage'.

That was it! She would give up drinking. Perfect!

She smiles at truly happy smile at the delusional solution, as if it would fix all her problems. She looks at Finland, trying to communicate that it will be alright. They just have to go about their merry way, America won't drink. Finland still can.

Then her smile dims a bit, and she realizes that maybe he doesn't see it the same way.

Because he isn't fucking talking.

Oh crap. Is she actually going to have to console him? He seemed fine earlier. Honest. America stares at the counter, trying not to blush to the roots of her hair again. Great. Somehow it just got a fuck ton more awkward.

They get their drinks and sit at a nearby table.

America is as close to dying from sheer embarrassment as is nationally possible.

It is then that she tries to sink into her chair with a slight wince.

"Are you alright?" Finland asks her suddenly.

She blushes and takes a drink of her coffee. It is hot and burns her tongue. She swallows it anyway. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, she'll lose her voice and won't have to answer.

"Just fine," she replies with a tight-lipped smile as she turns her attention to the table.

Please. Make. It. Stop.

What exactly? America doesn't know, she just wants to bolt out of the door and not look back. She'd shagged the country that dressed up as Santa for her Christmas parties.

Oh lord. That brought a new meaning to 'sit in Santa's lap'.

She'd done that too.

America was just a hairs breadth away from slamming her head repeatedly on the table.

There was no way she was escaping the naughty list this year. She clenched her teeth together. Grin and bear it girl. Grin and bear it.

And she might have...

If Iceland hadn't decided to show up with Norway in tow.

Oh what the fuck?

Seriously? Seriously this shit just had to happen to her? Now? America groaned.

Finland followed her gaze and saw the other Nordics.

Inside America was panicking this was a 'code red'. A. CODE. .

This was not a freaking drill.

She put her cup to her lips and drank deeply.

Fuck that stings! She fought for a moment of control and then pulled out her best diplomatic smile.

Bring it, bitches.

Norway looks highly amused as he catches sight of America sitting at the table with her jacket zipped all the way up to her neck. She notices that his dull blue eyes linger on a few of her 'spots'. She watches at the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly and she knows he's amused.

Bastard.

Of fucking course he would notice that.

Normally it was harder to read the mysterious country than this. She takes another sip of her coffee.

Still hot, fuck. Why does she keep doing that?

Her blue eyes lock with Norway's there is a glare in her stare, mixed in subtly.

Iceland is fidgeting and America knows that they followed her and Finland down here. She's fighting the blush of anger she's feeling now.

Fucking hell. The little assholes. She'll shove a boot up their-

Wait.

This was perfect. Now she had an excuse to leave. Fucking epic. She was going to take that.

Oh hell yeah.

She smiles congenially, at them. Quietly, she gets up, nodding to the newcomers and waves goodbye to Finland.

She brushes past Norway, on the way out. A rude gesture, but she's more than a little irritated at him. She vaguely registers Iceland bidding her farewell.

OoOoOo

The soreness is gone and America is nearly dancing as she makes her way down the hall to the next meeting. She's chatting Canada's ear off about her week. Because she adores her brother and for some reason other people seem to forget to include him in the conversations.

They walk into the conference room together.

Because she totally _isn't_ trying to avoid being alone. Just for when, on the off-chance, Finland happens to be around.

It's not him she's worried about.

However, she's still mentally taken back by the fact she's banged the 'Santa' country a few times. Really. That actually is a little hard for her to forget.

She's smiling widely as she comes across the leering face of France.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck.

She narrows her eyes and can tell that he has some inkling that she's done something. Please don't let Norway or Iceland have said anything. She isn't worried about Finland saying much of anything. The nation hardly talks unless Sweden is around.

She chooses to ignore the fact that she has a baseball bat in her car in case Sweden gets wind of what has happened.

Purely for defensive purposes. Of course.

Because Sweden is a little protective of Finland and all.

"America," he purrs at her and she blushes in spite of herself. "It is so good to see you, lovely."

Her eyes are up here. She snorts delicately as his eyes are locked on something that is most certainly not her gaze.

"Hey," she says flippantly, and drags Canada to table.

She chances a backward glance and France looks thoroughly amused. As if this is some new game for him.

God Damn it. She was going to have to deal with him leering at her all day. She'd rather it was Prussia or Spain. At least she'd have a chance to amuse herself by pretending she had no idea what they were going on about.

France would try to show her by asking her to go to bed with him.

She'd been a good nation and stayed out of trouble for the most part. Except for Finland.

Speaking of which, his eyes met hers and America looked away shyly.

Okay. Oh shit. She hadn't planned this far into the future. The bruises are healing nicely, and she'd got them covered again. America chose a sophisticated turtle-neck sweater for this very reason. No one makes a mention about her change of attire and she would be really grateful if they just left her alone for a bit.

But Finland is staring at her, and it makes her blush.

Just staring. He smiles the same kind smile he always has.

And out of reflex, she knows she's grinning at him

Fuck.

She feels a tingling start in the back of her thighs and her mind readily supplies the memories of things his hands can do.

Oh for fuck sake!

No. Down girl. Down.

Part of her doesn't listen because she feels the need to shift without drawing attention to herself. She sneaks a peak up at Finland, trying to pose for cool and collected. She rubs one thigh against the other, trying to ease her sudden excitement.

She pours herself some water, and tries to drink that quickly to quell the heat in her stomach.

Please tell her she didn't have a fucking Santa fetish.

No, she didn't.

She knows she doesn't.

Norway's dull blue eyes are watching her, and she flashes a fake smile his way. He glances away.

However, a pair of arms come down on either side of her, and she cranes her face up to see the stoic face of Sweden.

AHHH! She flails for a moment.

FUCK!

He popped out of nowhere like a fucking ninja!

She fails to suppress the squeak of alarm that rips from her throat.

"Sw-weden... buddy. How are you?"

He stares at her, unmoving.

"N'ed t' t'lk t' y'u." He says quietly.

America blinks wide eyes at him, swearing at herself for not bringing the baseball bat with her. She manages a smile and cheerful expression.

"Sure, whatever you need dude."

Sweden nods sternly.

Oh... she is so _fucked._


	3. Chapter 3

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Calm down. Just calm down. Breathe. Yeah, breathe.

She had this. She had this in the bag. America refused to cower the rest of the meeting as she kept sneaking glances at Sweden and attempting to stop herself from internally freaking right the fuck out.

It was harder than it sounded.

She cleared her throat and looked around the room as they discussed the need for more practical infectious disease epidemic procedures. America wasn't really listening that much. Her eyes kept wandering the room, trying to _discreetly_ find a way out of here.

Yeah, she would have to speak to Sweden, but she would really like it if she made it to her car first.

Once again, purely for defensive purposes, but she supposed she could box the nation down a bit if she had to. She honestly hoped she did not have to. That would be all kinds of strange and they actually had good political relations...up until the moment she banged his 'wife'.

Or the second time.

If you didn't count multiple encounters. Which America prayed Sweden did not. She shifted in her seat, moving closer toward Russia accidentally. Normally they did not sit together terribly often, but the only other seat available where the ones by the Nordic nations, and she was obviously avoiding those.

That and well, she and Russia didn't hate each other. Far from it. They did not precisely like each other, and yes they did tend to go after one another, but honestly they were fine. Granted, they were currently arguing because Russia blamed her for their 'impending' recession. She'd gone through one too, and was willing to help him. Yet, they still had to argue about the price of oil and she was growing weary of it. She liked Russia, in all honesty, he was a very unique country. There was no one like him. It was also helpful that even Russia gave Sweden pause, so no America was not moving from her seat.

Her ass was staying right here.

Her blue gaze landed on Russia's violet one as he blinked at her. America looked down and realized that she was leaning toward him subconsciously. She flashed him an apologetic smile, and straightened. Clasping her hands together, she tried to pay more attention to the numbers the World Health Organization had come up with.

America nodded along, and scratched a few notes after ten or so minutes. She did need to beef up this area of her nation. Most hospitals worldwide were not equipped to deal with a true epidemic. She looked at Russia again, pondering if it was worth it to delay speaking with Sweden by going somewhere with the larger nation.

Maybe.

Fuck. She didn't know.

America fiddled with her pen. She snuck a glance at Sweden again, he was staring at her. Fuuuuuuuck. Okay. Alright.

She looked over at Finland.

He was staring at her.

God damnit. It was still all kinds of awkward.

And lame, because now she was slightly turned on again. What the hell? What was wrong with her? Did she have some sort of masochistic streak she wasn't aware of?

She must have because she kept periodically glancing back at the smiling face of Finland.

Damn it.

Focus on something else!

America looked at Canada, who was engrossed in the report. She couldn't catch his eyes to save her life. Of course.

Of-fucking-course.

She smiled tightly and looked back at Russia.

Who was... also staring at her.

What the hell? Did she forget to cover the hickies? She placed a hand to her neck subconsciously, and blushed. She felt fabric and remembered she was wearing a turtle neck. Right. So Russia couldn't possibly see them.

She chuckled nervously to herself.

Get it together girl.

America's leg started to bounce. She couldn't stop it. She bounced her left leg rapidly and lowered her arm to the table. Her other hand fiddled with the pen. Everything about her screamed 'nervous'. The blonde nation tried to hide it.

She felt a hand on her knee. America twitched and looked at the offending appendage.

"Amerika," he said lowly, "stop."

Russia's gloved hand was on her knee, forcing it to stop bouncing. She blushed and swallowed. Right. She was causing a disturbance again. America nodded briefly, a form of thanks, and Russia removed his hand. She stared at her notes, as if they would get up and fly away in a moment's notice.

Don't be distracting.

She bit her lip in contemplation and tapped her fingers softly on the table, barely making a sound. Russia was amused by her antics, it seemed, because he smiled and ignored her otherwise.

She took a sip of water.

It turned out to be a mistake, because that reminded her of how much she had to use the ladies room. However, she didn't want to call more attention to herself.

France gave her a small wave, and she looked away, trying not to glare at Norway out of reflex. She knew he had to have said something. Well, it looked like Norway had a death wish.

She was going to kill him.

... Once she proved he actually said something.

Because otherwise it was murder and not justifiable homicide.

IF there was such a thing. Actually, come to think of it, she didn't believe there was. Not according to the U.N. anyway.

God Damnit. Why did this have to happen?

America had been good since her last mistake, and not even allowed a drop of alcohol past her lips. She also only hung out with countries she knew she wouldn't get into trouble with.

Which wasn't many... but there was still more than one so that counted as a victory.

Sort of.

Time crept by as she battle doff the various images that filtered through her mind of Finland, and what was going to happen to her if Sweden got her alone.

It was definitely not for anyone under the age of 18.

America squirmed impatiently in her seat.

Fuck. This was so unfair.

France had banged like half of her countries women, but he never got messed over like this. She supposed he would if he ever got anywhere near Lichtenstein. However, Switzerland would never allow that.

As in... ever.

Damn it. Why couldn't she have an awesome 'get back' stare? America rested her head against a propped up hand, her elbow on the table. This was going to suck. A lot more than other political problems sucked, which was no small feat.

God bless her.

Her eyes strayed toward Egypt, who was tapping his pen on a pad of paper. Well, at least she wasn't the only nation that didn't wish to be here.

Fucking hell.

To her horror, she started blushing because she noticed Finland was staring at her again. Okay. Calm down.

She twitched.

She needed a distraction, or some way to get out of talking to Sweden. She couldn't fucking handle this right now.

No.

This was all kinds of hellish 'nope', right here.

Finally, the WHO report was finished and Germany declared they would break for the day.

Think America. Think!

"Hey, Russia," she said, turning to him as soon as the meeting concluded. "You want to go to lunch? I hear there is this nice Italian place just down the way."

The larger nation blinked at her in surprise.

"You wish to go to lunch?" He asked with a contemplative pause. "With me?"

"Yep." She replied enthusiastically. "In fact, I insist you pick the place."

His violet eyes narrowed on her and she could see amusement swirling in their depths. "Why?"

She floundered, her smile coming off more than a tad thin. "You know, I just wanted to smooth over this whole thing between us."

"Thing?"

"You know,"

"Oh, you mean how you slapped sanctions on my country to lower prices for you which caused great harm to my-"

"Okay," She interrupted with a heavy sigh, "I get it. 'Amerika'" she mimicked in a nearly perfect Russian accent, "it is all your fault. The If you weren't such a horrible country, the world would be a utopia. The people would be able to imagine gold and have it appear in front of them. There would never be fighting again if you weren't here. Every puppy that was ever kicked is your fault Amerika. You brought about the bubonic plague, though it predates your existence, because time knew you would come into being!"

She rolled her eyes and looked at him again. Russia did not appear insulted in the least, he in fact looked utterly delighted at her sarcastic rant.

There really were times she had no idea what Russia thought was amusing or not. It was always a gamble with him.

"Do you want a free lunch or not?" She quipped, slightly irritated.

Geez, everyone ragged on her fucking culture. Americas were too loud, they were too patriotic (no such thing, assholes), they had stereotypes. Yet, every nation assumed she ate hamburgers all the time, stuffed her mouth continuously, always carried a gun, couldn't find any country but her own on a map, was generally ignorant, and was some hot-headed cowboy.

Yeah... that wasn't fucking stereotypical at all. But hey, it was against her, so that made it okay, right?

"You are rather insistent that I eat with you. Are you avoiding someone?" He asked her, with his accent deepening, another sign he was amused.

"No," she replied, nearly spitting the lie.

He grinned down at her, chuckling to himself. "Who is it?"

"No one," she snapped, "now, do you want to go to lunch or not?"

"Oh da. Da." He said clearly condescending her for not telling him the truth.

She beamed at him. "Great. Let's go. Want to bring China?"

Russia shifted, looking at the other country from across the room. He waved, China glared back at them.

"I think he says 'no'." Russia conferred to her.

America gave him a lopsided grin. "I think you're right."

Her eyes caught sight of Sweden coming toward them. America valiantly held back the whimper that threatened to escape her.

Hold your ground.

Hold your fucking ground. She squared her shoulders and gave a wide smile. Sweden stopped by them, staring intently at America.

"T'lk?" He said quietly.

America made a regretful face. "Oh... not right now," she gestured toward Russia. "we were just about to go to lunch."

Russia looked between the pair, nearly gleeful.

So help her, if he started laughing she was going to kick him so fucking hard that he limped the rest of the day. Politics be damned.

"Why don't you come with us?" Russia asked politely.

America turned her head slowly and stared at him with a horrified smile frozen on her lips. Did he just do that? Did he really just fucking do that to her? Her eyes narrowed, and America stretched the smile wider until her cheeks were aching.

"What a great idea," she stated with false enthusiasm. "Why don't you join us?"

Saving face was a huge pain in her ass.

Sweden nodded, and turned toward the back of the room and motioned with his hand. Finland wandered over, the same kind smile still in place.

Oh fuck.

Not this. Anything but this. It was bad enough to suffer from a cup of coffee after doing things that would have her practically excommunicated from both sides of England. Not really, but it sounded about right to her.

She still couldn't pass by anything red without seeing her sitting in Santa's lap in a _very _different fashion.

And 'Santa Baby' would not be a term of innocent endearment. Jingle 'bells' would-

No. Stop it.

Her mind sputtered for a moment, possibly listening to her.

'Santa's package' for being a good girl would still have her on her-

STOP. No. Bad. Bad nether region. Knock that off.

Finland tying her up with a red ribbon as he -

Oh God. She was picturing it.

PICTURING IT! Gah!

She shifted to ease her sudden arousal, and to shake off the image at the same time.

America rubbed her temple and gave them a forced smile, as she tried to stave off the headache that was threatening to arrive.

This day just when from shit... to utter hell.

America was going to have to seriously keep from stabbing herself with a fork at lunch just so she could leave.

"Finland," Russia greeted.

America said nothing, as she fought the blush on her cheeks. Her eyes darted everywhere but at what was around her.

Don't blush. Don't do it.

Don't.

Blush.

FUCK!

America coughed, trying to pass off the redness as a tickle in her throat.

Russia glanced at her curiously. America smiled at Finland, trying not to notice that the door was only fifteen feet away and if she _really_ just had a five second head start, that she could leave them all in the dust.

She fucking could. Even in heels.

"Lunch?" America croaked out, attempting to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation.

It didn't work.

"Yes," Finland said tracing his eyes over her face, "lunch would be lovely."

Russia snickered, and America internally groaned. While the larger nation may not know exactly what was going on, he knew enough to understand America was avoiding Finland.

_Finland._ Of all countries, and that was obviously highly amusing to him. Or her discomfort was. It really did not matter which.

America elbowed him in the midsection.

Discreetly of course... as she was struck by another 'coughing fit'.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hi all! Third story updated today. Yeesh. I am tired. Hope you all are doing well. **_

_**I own nothing. Rated M.**_

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It was, hands down, the worst fucking lunch of her life.

And it had only just started.

After a rather awkward walk, where she'd tried to break away from the group twice -only to have Russia mysteriously right behind her when she turned around-, America had settled in for the long haul of wanting to stab her own aorta with a butter knife so she could leave.

Russia's violet eyes gleamed as he watched her paste a smile on her face and try not to squirm as they sat around the moderately nice eatery.

She was stuck between Russia and Sweden. Which meant, at a table made to sit four, that she was seated right across from Finland.

The naughtiest Santa there ever has been.

No. No. Stop that. She chastised herself. The waiter brought them water while they perused menus and America discreetly tried to catch a glimpse of the exists.

Purely for ... fire safety reasons.

Russia didn't even seem the slightest bit upset that she'd elbowed him hard enough to make his cough. Or he'd been covering up a laugh. Bastard. She reminded herself to play nice. It wouldn't do to have to call her boss over an international incident that happened at an Italian restaurant.

Damn, but this was all kinds of awkward.

Russia was practically radiating excitement.

"That is a lovely turtle neck, Amerika," he rumbled out suddenly.

She flinched internally, and used every ounce of restraint she had to keep from kicking him under the table. She was almost afraid he would like that. She liked Russia, honestly, she did. However, there were times when he greatly delighted in rubbing salt in her wounds.

Metaphorically speaking, this time.

"Thank you," she murmured and pretended to stare at the pasta selections. Her eyes flickered up and caught a glimpse of Finland.

Staring at her.

Again.

Okay, America do not fear. This too shall pass. It would be over soon. Except she could see Sweden's expression and he had given up any pretense of looking at anything except Finland. And then there was Russia who was grinning like a child at Christmas.

Damnit. Not again. All she could see was some very wrong things she'd done with 'Santa'. Oh this was going to be a terrible thing come the actual time for the holiday. She would never be able to dress up as Mrs. Clause again.

Never.

Fucking _ever_.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something to break up the silence. America did not like long awkward silences and this was the mother of them all. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes momentarily. She would got to her happy place.

There was chocolate there. Biscotti, and iced coffee. Her favorite books were piled next to a comfy armchair. The afternoon sun was bright and strong. The leaves were changing color in the fall and-

"It is a new style for you, da?" Russia crushed her peaceful moment with a well aimed question.

She glared at him sharply.

America knew what he was up to. He was fucking fishing to find out the reason for her avoiding Finland. Because if he was asking about it, he truly didn't know. No. If he _knew_ he'd be taunting her with it out in the open.

That she respected him for. And she despised him for it too.

"Yes," she replied with a touch of frost to her tone and a wide smile. "It's so nice of you to notice."

"Of course Amerika," he replied with his trade mark smile.

They laughed softly at each other, the picture of friendly conversation. However, both parties were well aware that it was anything but.

It did not help that several nations had decided to follow them all to this restaurant. America could see Canada sitting with Cuba in a booth not terribly far from them.

Great. Just fucking great.

Is she wasn't mistaken, that was England behind the partition, and Spain was with Prussia over by the window.

And of course, Iceland and Norway by the doors. Yes. She saw them. America gave a bright laugh and turned her attention back to Russia.

"Is that a new tie?" She asked congenially, not meaning a single bit of her false enthusiasm.

"Why yes!" Russia replied in an equally happy fashion. "I did not think you would, of all people, would point it out. I am so pleased."

Her smile dimmed a bit and her eyes narrowed momentarily. "Oh Russia... " she muttered softly. "You flatter me so."

"..." Sweden looked between them and America knew that he was trying to puzzle out why they were being so nice to one another.

Russia was about to retort, but then the waiter came back for their orders. America quickly scrambled and picked something at random. She gave a quick smile to the man, and reached for her water glass. Unfortunately, if she looked forward, all she saw were Finland's eyes.

Their color was rather intriguing, and she was staring before she realized it. She blushed and looked away, trying not to feel as if she'd been a little... obvious.

She shouldn't be noticing Finland so much, but she was acutely aware of him. Especially when he was around her.

Her eyes widened when she felt sometime move against her leg. She swallowed and blinked. Her gaze shifted back to the Blonde male nation. America fought down a blush. Someone's foot was slowly trailing up and down her left leg.

Oh Lord.

Was Finland playing footsy with her?

Don't blush America. If she blushed, Russia would _know_ and then every nation would know, even if they didn't already. She had a sneaking suspicion some of them knew. Maybe not the full details, but enough of the story to piece together what happened.

She was so screwed.

America snuck a glance at Russia, who was busily staring at Finland. Finland looked at Russia briefly and his secretive game under the table continued. She bit back an 'eek' that threatened to worm its way out of her throat.

She had to remain calm.

FUCKING CALM!

"So Finland, it is so good to spend time with you again." Russia said sweetly.

America looked between the two subtly. What was this about? Russia seemed to have a bitter tone to his words, and Finland looked uncomfortable.

"It has been awhile," Finland said neutrally.

While he was riling America up. Her mind was racing with over a dozen disarming and arousing memories. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She wanted to!

Stop! She had to shift in her seat and try to pull her left away. However, Finland moved slightly, and she could feel his foot against her leg again. America was torn between laughing and shouting at him to quit it.

America knew that logically, they had done a lot more than footsy. Several times. However, that did not take away the nearly overwhelming embarrassment over the situation. He was Finland! She'd banged Sweden's 'wife' and Sweden was sitting right freaking there.

All while Finland molested her leg.

And, damn if she wasn't getting turned on by it.

Damn it! This wasn't right. America felt her cheeks heat, and she knew that if Russia looked over she would be better to decapitate herself with a plate than to let him find out. Truthfully, there had once been a time when she and Russia had been highly attracted to one another. It was taboo for both of them to even bring it up.

America had been younger then, and there had been _something_ between them. They had not always been hostile toward one another. However, America had never allowed Russia close enough. She doubted he would care that she'd slept with Finland. It had been decades since then.

Yet, that would not stop him from using it against her.

And yes, she knew all about Finland's time with Russia. Since the Finnish Civil War, she had made it a point not to ask about his history with Russia. Or any of the following events. Basically 1918-1948 was a big no-no. Those years were never spoken of. Hell, even 1991 was a sensitive topic that America steered clear of.

Russia was not evil, America knew that. However, she still had mixed feelings about England and those things were hard to sort through.

She understood that part.

What she didn't understand was why the fuck he'd invited them! If he hadn't of done that, then she could catch a god damn break for a day.

" 'mer'ca?"

Her head snapped up and she looked at Sweden. She flashed a reflexive smile.

"Yes?" She quirked back, almost hoping that Sweden would tackle her from across the table so they could just get this over with.

Man this fucking sucked.

She had good relations with Sweden. They had several things founded together and now she was going to have to explain why he was likely going to attack her in the middle of lunch.

Which she hadn't even gotten to fucking eat yet.

"Y'u 'lr'ght?" His serious blue eyes pinned her and she had to stop from breaking out in a tremble.

Alright? Was she _alright?_ Was he fucking kidding? She was a nervous wreck getting felt up, from the ankle to the knee, by Finland.

She needed wine.

Now. Right fucking now.

"Great." She chirped at him. "Never better."

Liar. Liar. Pants on fire. She was even close to humming the ditty under her breath. The waiter returned with drinks and America had a death grip on the man in an instant.

"Wine," she muttered lowly. "Bring the bottle and leave it." She subtly slipped a twenty into the boy's apron. He grinned and hurried off to get it for her.

She looked back at the group of men watching her with interest.

"What's Italian food without wine?" She said with a tight smile.

God this was hell. She'd never done anything so terrible as to deserve this. She watched with eager eyes as the waiter came back quickly, pouring wine for them all. America didn't wait an instant. She grabbed the glass and downed it a few long gulps.

Russia was staring at her now too.

She didn't fucking care about that right now. She wasn't going to say a fucking thing. Not one.

She poured herself a refill, as Finland looked at her and she knew he doubtlessly had some questions. She started to chug that glass too.

"I do not believe some would approve of the way you treat wine," Russia said with vast amusement.

Fuck you. She thought viciously.

"Well, you know us Americans." she mumbled for lack of anything else to say. "Don't want to have to wait to enjoy something."

She internally groaned at her words the second they left her mouth. Finland was smiling at her now, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Fuck. She hadn't meant it like that.

However...

No! Shit! What was wrong with her. She needed to get this fucking awful lunch over with.

"Sweden." She said suddenly. "Why don't you tell us about your country's current events?" She suggested with a bright smile and louder voice.

That ought to keep the nations listening close by bored for a little while. Um... entertained. Yes, she meant entertained.

Sweden blinked, before methodically filling them all in on what was happening with his country.

Finland, of course, already knew.

Kill her now.

At least the game of footsy had stopped. That was a positive thing. Right? Because she _didn't_ really want it to continue. Really. She didn't.

Even if she knew his hands could do far better than-

She shook her head and flushed.

"Oh? You disagree?" Russia asked, clearly intrigued.

America looked up and realized she'd done that at exactly the wrong time. Sweden had said something, and fuck if she wasn't listening again. She wasn't really that flighty, she was just preoccupied.

She refilled her wine again, noting that it was empty. She signaled for the waiter again.

"Yes?" She said, but it sounded more like a question.

"Why?" Sweden demanded with a stern look on his face.

Her smile was thin.

Oh God. Please hurry with the fucking wine.

The wine did not come, but the food finally had. America tried to breathe a sigh of relief.

Then she felt he sensation of someone touching her knee, and Finland's hands were not on the table. America blushed and stared at him.

Finland winked at her.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you my lovely reviewers!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**Rated M. I own nothing. **_

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She was bemoaning her life in a white button down shirt as she sat on the edge of her hotel bed.

America had to cancel going to the rest of the meeting. Because, much to her embarrassment, she couldn't think about anything except that fact the Finland kept finding ways to touch her during lunch. The worst part is why it bothered her. It wasn't that she did not like it. Well, alright, maybe partly. But because it was a fucking turn on, and what the hell was wrong with her for liking it?

Oh dear lord. She'd had a leg, knee, and hand fondled by Finland and she was ready to take advantage of herself just to relieve some of the sexual tension.

What the hell? Wasn't Finland supposed to be some adorable little nation with an ever present smile on his face? He should never have been able to make America forget her own freaking name or thought track. But he had.

She ran her hands through her hair, tousling it as she tried to not flip the fuck out over the fact that she might just have some sort of strange deisrie for Finland.

Not that there was anything wrong with Finland, but honestly he wasn't a very intimidating nation. Except... when he had snipers at his beck and call or alcohol bombs. However, besides those two things, he seemed perfectly harmless.

Harmless... not capable of pulling her underwear off with his teeth like he had-

NO!

No she was not doing that again. She'd just had to suffer through not making a sound every time he touched her while Russia sat right freaking _there_ at the table with them. Not to mention Sweden! Oh she thought Sweden would be able to simply know that Finland was touching her.

Or that she was envisioning several fun things she'd like to do to his 'wife'. Or hell, have his 'wife' do to her.

America groaned and tried not to whimper in distress.

This fucking sucked. Who the hell went and had raunchy sex with one of the most unassuming nations? America! That's right. She did.

And what rubbed salt in the wound was that she'd really, really, enjoyed it.

Oh what was she going to tell her boss? How could she ever face Sweden again? She'd have to try and see if she could call in sick for a decade.

Or four.

Yes, forty years would be enough for Finland and Sweden to forget that America had moaned like a two dollar whore beneath-

Fucking hell!

She should have known. It was always the quiet ones you had to watch out for. She should have _known._ It was obvious on every T.V. show, book, and horror movie. Geez, why couldn't she get Finland out of her head?

Why?

America shuddered either from the slight chill in the room or the memory of Finland's touch.

_He winked at her. America blushed and forgot to breathe. _

_Russia was watching her intently as she tried to dig into her food, but ended up just pushing it around the plate. Her blue eyes wandered up to the large nation at her side, trying to distract herself._

_Finland's fingertips brushed across her knee, and America drew in a shaky breath._

_"I believe we were talking about something?" She offered to break the silence and keep her mind from the warm touch upon her skin._

_She had to hope that it would work._

_Otherwise, she was half tempted to call her military for a covert extraction. She wouldn't but damn if the thought wasn't slightly entertaining._

_"You disagreed with Sweden placing more restrictions on his immigration process," Finland replied kindly._

_Her blue eyes flickered over to his, and she gave him a slight smile. He applied a little more pressure on her knee, his had trailed up her leg just slightly. He could not reach much further and that made America breath a little bit in relief. _

_She wasn't certain if she would tell him to stop. Honestly, she was torn already._

_"Oh yes," America replied, avoiding Sweden's gaze. He was like a shark, in her thoughts at the moment, and if he so much as smelled the proverbial 'blood in the water', he'd attack her._

_Oh God. She hoped he couldn't read minds._

_He couldn't do that right?_

There was a knock at her door. America rubbed a hand across her face and tried not to pout. Epically, becasue she was America. Even if she had screwed someone she shouldn't have.

She honestly was such a good nation normally. A few mind-blowing encounters with Finland and she was turnign into a pervert or sexual diviant!

Even France had never been able to accomplish that.

There was a series of knocks at her door. America barely spared it a glance

_"So what are you're thoughts, on it Amerika?" Russia asked, clearly reveling in her discomfort. Her lips parted and she stuffed a bite of food in her mouth._

_It was delicious, but she could hardly taste it. She just wanted to get the fuck out of here._

_"You must have a reason for disagreeing?" The former soviet nation asked with a great show of pretending to be thoughtful. "After all you would never say or _do_ something without thinking. Would you?"_

_Was that a hint? Her blood froze in her veins._

_Shit. _

_Did he know? If he knew she was screwed. In more ways than just by the smiling country with the most adorable sounding swear words ever._

_America glanced around nervously. Shit. She needed something. Anything to get out of..._

_Oh..._

_America reached for her wine glass, and covertly knocked in over, so that the liquid splashed on her. She had suddenly been struck by the inspiration._

_The male nation looked at her, as she made a show of seeming surprised and embarrassed. It wasn't too hard to act out, she already was._

_"Oh no," America said sadly. "I got it all over my shirt. Excuse me. I need to go put some club soda on this."_

_She scooted her chair back as some of the wait staff came over to help clean up the mess. Russia's violet eyes watched her, and she could sense that he knew what her ploy was._

_Well, too fucking bad. She'd ruined a perfectly good turtleneck for this. She hurriedly put her napkin ont he table and bit the other nations-_

Okay.

The knocking at the door was distracting her.

Fucking people.

Fucking nations.

Fucking _Finland._ Because somehow, it was all his fault. Even though she knew it wasn't.

Gah!

Ignore it.

Fucking ignore it America! She chastised to herself, but her curiosity got the better of her and she peaked out through the peephole.

Her stomach clenched tightly at the familiar blonde nation with a blue shirt on.

It was Finland. What fresh hell was this? America felt light-headed and there was still some residual arousal. from earlier.

She should just keep the door closed. She should pretend she wasn't even here.

She wasn't here.

He knocked again.

She cringed and tried not to allow the memories of what happened the last time she was completely alone in a hotel room with him overwhelm her.

It... did not work.

America felt herself flushing slightly. Okay. She'd just tell him she didn't feel well. Yes. That made a perfectly logical explanation for her beating a hasty retreat from the meeting. Perfect. She spilled the wine because she didn't feel good and had to stay away from everyone.

Fucking perfect.

Because from the look on his face through the peephole, he wasn't going away anytime soon.

Damn determined Finnish.

Alright. She'd just tell him and then that would be the end of it. Right.

Awesome.

She made up her mind and opened the door.

"Finland," America said trying not to blush.

He smiled at her, the same way he always did and America nearly squeaked.

"Hello America," he said in a gentle manner as his gaze wandered over her and then back to her eyes. "You weren't at the second half of the meeting. Are you alright?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she wasn't. That she was struck by some random, unknown, and heck even potentially lethal illness so he should get as far away as he could. However, instead of saying anything, she licked her lips as she shifted uncomfortably. Her thoughts wandered, as did her gaze, to the lower areas of his body.

Damn her imagination.

And fucking hormones.

America blinked at him owlishly when she realized where she was staring. She watched a smug look over take his normally smiling features.

Uh...

What?

America blushed as his eyes darkened. She swallowed reflexively.

"Good." She said, with her voice nearly cracking. "I'm good. Totally fine. Yep. Yeah. Never been better. Just...ah... doing... things." She hinted vaguely. Trying not to wince at the end of the sentence.

Then it occurred to her just how wrong that sounded when he smiled at her nearly wickedly.

"_Things_?" He stated with a heated look in her direction. "Do you need any help with these _things_?"

Her mind went straight into the gutter. My goodness. Was he...? America blinked as her mind raced.

She was getting propositioned by the nation who'd dressed up as Santa for the longest time. It was actually something she was even considering. What the hell?

She'd sat in his lap before. Her memory supplied the happy images, and then the more erotic ones.

And she wanted to do it again. The latter not the former. With his coc-

Damn. Stop that!

Down girl. This is what got you into trouble in the first place. Well... that and booze.

Yeah, she wasn't going to say 'no' to this. Was she?

"Help?" America repeated trying not to be excited by the way he was looking at her.

"I'd be glad to," Finland purred at her as he stepped closer and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

America's heart skipped a beat.

Her eyelids slid closed as they started moving backward, inside the room.

This was a bad idea.

This was such a bad, bad idea.

But with the sounds she was making and his forceful caresses she couldn't even put a coherent sentence together. And she didn't give a damn. America barely heard the door slam close and Finland started attacking her clothes. A button popped off and she internally groaned.

Three seconds later she was moaning into Finland's mouth as his hands found her skin.

Well... at least she was sober this time.

OoOoOo

There was a knocking at the door. America groggily winced as she moved from the bed. Hastily she grabbed her clothing, and threw it on. Her shirt was rumbled and her pants were partially ripped at the seam nearest to her crotch.

Ah... well... that sort of thing happened. Didn't it?

How was she going to explain all of this?

She was already going to have to pay the hotel for a new chair. As well as the bent shower head in the bathroom and there was a hole in the far wall from a moment when she got... particularly passionate.

Oh hell.

That explained the last few times. He must have done that _thing_ he did with his tongue. America blushed at the thought of it. She moved toward the door slowly.

The knocking continued.

She scrambled to think of who it would be.

She wasn't expecting anyone.

With slightly blurry vision, because Texas was... somewhere around here... America opened the door.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was Sweden.

America nearly had a heart attack as she looked at the nation with wide and horrified eyes. He must have come looking for her. Or... or...

Shit.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She couldn't fight Sweden in a hotel room! Her boss would kill her. However, it would be self defense wouldn't it?

America made a strangled noise of surprise. She gave a trembling smile.

Oh hell. This was bad.

She had answered the door, thoroughly disheveled while Finland was on her bed. _Naked._ Giving further proof to the fact they'd just knocked boots again.

Fucking hell.

America shifted more in the way of the door, praying futility too keep Sweden from seeing the fact she'd gone and banged his wife. Sweden's fucking _WIFE._ And, of course, with her unparalleled luck; Finland's husband had just showed up.

Breathe.

Okay breathe and try not to freak out.

Or bleed all over the room when he starts swinging. America cringed.

Why did Sweden have to show up now?

Or ever?

Better yet, why had she let Finland fuck her again? Why? That was the question of the hour. That and what the hell America?

She fought for composure.

Try as she might, she couldn't come up with a single plausible explanation as to what else this could be to Sweden than exactly what it looked like.

"Um... hi?" she tired with mortification eating her up inside.

Her voice must have woken Finland for she could hear the rustling of the sheet under him.

Sweden heard it too. His blue eyes looked at Finland and then at America. Locking on her, only slightly terrified, gaze. Her eye twitched as she followed Sweden's gaze to Finland who waved to Sweden, unperturbed by what was happening.

America cleared her throat.

"Well," she said gently, "you're certainly not room service."


End file.
